


Beaten Alone

by martyr (johnnycake)



Series: Switchblades and Leather [40]
Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnycake/pseuds/martyr
Summary: Johnny feels selfish for talking about his problems. But not everyone agrees that's what he is.





	Beaten Alone

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written a one shot in a while!! idk if this is the best thing i've written, but i'm still happy with how it turned out.

The night was dark and cold, but that was how every night in Tulsa felt this time of year. Still, Johnny staggered down the street, his arms wrapped around his shaking torso, his eyes staring, unfocused, at the asphalt beneath his feet, watching his shoes eat up the space between his vacant lot and his house and then between his house and the rest of the world. His cheeks were covered in tear streaks that had long since dried, though his eyes still seemed to be swimming, and his face was covered in bruises – one on his chin, one around his eye, one on his cheek. There were more, hidden beneath his clothes – on his arms, his wrists, his ribs, and his hips – but only he knew they were there. There was dried blood under his nostrils, the direct result of a bloody nose, and blood flecking his split lip.

He looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a ton of bricks. And that was almost true.

In truth, he still couldn’t figure out exactly what it was that had gotten his father so mad tonight. And that was often the case. His father was always in a bad mood and when Johnny was home, he bore the brunt of those moods, ending up covered in bruises, blood, and scars. But sometimes there were reasons and he always spent hours afterwards, trying to figure out the reason, whether there was one or not, why his father or his mother had gone after him this time.

His typical conclusion was that it was stupid and it was his fault.

Whether that conclusion made sense or not seemed to be as irrelevant as the reasoning behind the beatings to begin with. It was just an explanation, just a way to reason out why this had happened. In a lot of ways, it was easier to blame himself than admit there was no real reason to begin with. If he were at fault, that meant he could change it.

Deep down, he knew none of that was actually true.

His father had come home from work, already in a foul mood, already half drunk from drinking beer with his coworkers on the way home. He’d seen Johnny, standing in the kitchen, not even doing anything except trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to try to make a sandwich, and moments later, he was on the floor, covering his face with his arms, trying to stop his father’s blows. When his mother came into the room to see what was going on, his father had shouted at her incoherently. Johnny wasn’t sure exactly what either one of them had said, but it had ended with her screaming at him while his father beat him. Clearly she agreed what whatever he’d said to her.

That seemed to be the only thing they agreed on: Johnny was worthless and deserved to be punished, deserved to be hurt. Johnny wasn’t entirely sure he disagreed with them on that either. He supposed, now, he should’ve known better than to even go into the kitchen, whether or not he’d actually been planning to take food that he knew he had to ask permission to eat.

When he’d finally managed to get away, he’d run out the door to the vacant lot and curled on the ripped out car seat in front of the makeshift fire pit, crying silently to himself for what felt like hours until he couldn’t stand the cold anymore. Then he’d got up and started back down the street, not entirely sure where he was heading, just knowing he had to get out of the cold before he caught pneumonia or hypothermia or something else.

Johnny reached the middle of the street that led from his house to the Curtis’s and froze.

Even from this distance, he could see the Curtis family in the living room windows. Darry was through the small doorway into the kitchen, barely visible. Ponyboy sat in Darry’s chair doing his homework, chewing on the end of his pencil as he tried to work out the best way to solve whatever problem was on the paper in front of him. Soda was the only one absent, probably still at work.

It wasn’t until that moment Johnny realized that had been his destination all along and as soon as he realized it, he turned on his heel and headed back the way he’d come. The Curtis’s had been through a lot recently, what with their parents dying in a horrible car crash and Darry and Soda both having to work full time jobs to keep their house from being foreclosed. Johnny didn’t need to add to that misery. Not tonight. Not ever. He could deal with this himself.

 _You’re selfish,_ a bitter voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Selfish. Stupid. Rotten. Worthless. You really think you have any right at all to put your problems on others? No matter what they may be? If it weren’t for you, your friends’ lives would all be so easy._

Johnny pressed both of his hands against his mouth.

He couldn’t stop the choked sob that escaped his throat.

The voice was right.

He knew it was right. He couldn’t even argue with it.

He _was_ selfish. He _was_ stupid. He _was_ rotten and worthless. Why was it everyone else in the gang could deal with their problems alone, but he had to go whining to them every time his father lightly tapped him? It happened so often he knew they had to be sick of it by now. They were just all too polite to tell him so.

He stopped again in the middle of the road, this time halfway between his house and the lot. He pressed his fists into his eyes and shuddered, crouching down on the ground, putting his head between his knees as he shuddered again and began to sob silently, rocking back and forth in the middle of the street, not particularly caring if a car came by and hit him.

It would be nice if he were dead, he decided.

Then this would all stop. Then he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. Then he wouldn’t be a burden on the gang anymore. Everything would end. And that would be just fine with him.

Time passed, the night wore on, and Johnny remained in the road, crouched, his face pressed into his knees, rocking back and forth, his entire body shaking with silent sobs. He wasn’t sure how long he crouched there, wishing for death, immobilized by an agonizing grief he felt no one else could understand, trying to figure out how he would kill himself if no one came along and did it for him.

“Johnny?”

The voice made him start. He looked up quickly and saw, standing over him, his face a mask of worry Sodapop, still wearing his DX uniform, his denim jacket he wore for warmth in one hand.

“What happened?” Soda asked, crouching down in front of him. “You okay?”

Johnny swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes shifting away from Soda’s face.

Soda didn’t reply and Johnny didn’t see Soda press his lips into a thin line.

It was clear to anyone who saw Johnny that he was the opposite of okay.

“C’mon, kid,” Soda said, his voice soft, gentle, “tell me what happened.”

Johnny still didn’t look at Soda as he swallowed again. For a long time, he thought he wasn’t going to say anything, the thought that he was selfish and should just keep his mouth shut still at the forefront of his mind. Then he opened his mouth to take a breath and the whole story came spilling out all at once: “My old man beat me up. I dunno why. I think cause I was in the kitchen without askin’. I went to the lot and was gonna sleep there, but it was cold, so I...dunno where I was goin’.”

“Why didn’t you go to my place?” Soda asked, tilting his head, trying to see Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny shrugged. “I didn’t wanna bother y’all. You’ve got enoughta deal with.”

Soda’s frowned, but not in anger or even sadness. He looked brokenhearted. “Johnny...” And the way he spoke made Johnny turn, look at him for the first time since he’d appeared. “You ain’t botherin’ us when ya come over. Ya know that, right? We really don’t mind helpin’ ya out.”

Johnny looked away again quickly. “Y’all gotta work and what with your folks dyin’ and all...ya don’t really needta hear about me and my problems too. I know you’re sick of it by now.”

But Soda only shook his head. “No,” he replied, his voice quiet, patient, understanding. “Nah, we ain’t sick of it, Johnnycake, I promise. We love ya. We help ya cause we love ya. And it never gets old doin’ that _cause_ we love ya, okay? I know your folks tell ya that no one loves ya, but _we_ do, okay? Your folks are bad people. They ain’t right.”

Johnny didn’t like crying in front of other people. It made him feel weak and selfish and most of the time he managed not to. But when Soda said this, his lower lip began to tremble and his eyes started to swim again. “You-you mean that?” Johnny asked, his voice shaking, still not looking at Soda, not wanting him to see the emotions warring for dominance on his face.

Soda gave a small, sad smile. “Of course, I mean it, kid. You’re like a brother to me, okay?”

Johnny turned back to Soda. And though everything in him told him that Soda had to be lying, that he was worthless and unable to be loved, some part of him, despite all of that, believed him. He swallowed hard, still unable to smile as he said, “Okay.”

Soda smiled a little wider and stood, holding out a hand to Johnny. Johnny took and let him help him up as Soda slung his arm around his shoulders and said, “C’mon, kid. I’ll take ya home. Darry’s makin’ some real good soup tonight. You can sleep on the couch and be comfy, okay?”

Johnny nodded again and this time he did smile.

Most of the time he felt unlucky. Most of the time he felt like he was destined to be miserable.

But right then he thought maybe, just maybe that wasn’t the whole truth.

Maybe he could be loved. Maybe he could be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i won't be writin' another one shot for a while, sooo enjoy this one!!


End file.
